On Two Sides of the Country
by DC Darling
Summary: When they left the White House, many things changed. Now Cady Rebecca Zeigler is on a quest to get her godmother and her father back together, and, unknowing, on the other side of the country, Elizabeth Lyman does the same.
1. Elizabeth Begins

OOC: This one is written by Jodi. 

            I glanced toward my mother momentarily, and then turned my attention back to the buildings moving by. Or rather, the buildings that weren't moving by, because were stuck in traffic on 14th street. I had told mom time and time again that today was probably not the best day to go by 14th street, but mom was probably not that inclined to listen to me at the moment. I took a deep breath and began, once again, "You know, it does kind of diminish-"

            "Oh God!" cried my mother, not your very devout Christian. This is the woman who insisted I be raised a Christian, but breaks the second commandment all the time. I probably wouldn't know what the second commandant was if my dad hadn't told me. "Are you still upset about that?"

            "I'm not upset, I'm just making a point."

            "Well, my top concern is not about whether or not the map in your textbook diminishes third world countries. You might say that I would if we lived in a third world country, but if we lived in a third world country I would be more concerned about getting food for you."

            "You mean, getting food for _you_, " I muttered.

            "Elizabeth Joan Lyman!" she cried. And that was that. End of conversation. If my mom just says my name in an exasperated tone, it means 'shut up' in a nice way. My mom named me after Elizabeth Cady Stanton, like a good feminist would. I'm lucky to have walked away with my dad's last name. We finally moved along passed the group of 'tourists', as my dad calls them. Mom glares at them. "God," she muttered, annoyed.

            "Well, I _did_ say they'd be there." I reminded her. She gave me a look that said. 'Right now is _not_ the time to make me mad.'

            We finally pulled up to my dad's Georgetown apartment. My parents have been divorced for three years, since I was eleven. My dad opened the door and cheerfully told us, "You're late-is it Total Crackpot Day again?" 

            "Yep," I replied in the same cheerful manner.

            "Bye, honey. See you in a week," my mom told me in her slightly heartless manner. She's not mean; she just has always been that way, according to my dad. Only God knows why he married her, but I should be grateful, 'cause otherwise probably I wouldn't exist.

            "Bye, Mom," I chirped as she left. 

            Dad turned to me. "So…what do you want for dinner?" I raised my eyebrow as if to say, 'do you really have to ask?' We have had the same dinner every other Friday night for three years: pizza. Dad grinned. "Ok, I'll order it." He went over to the phone and picked it up and dialed the number. I don't know how he found the pizza place, because its tiny, but he says he found it when he used to work at the White House. He worked for President Bartlet about fifteen years ago, before he married my mom and before I was born. 

            Dad must have been put on hold, because he did what I call his 'holding dance', meaning that he starts pacing up and down the room muttering, "I'm holding. I'm in some hellish hold world of holding." It's actually kind of amusing, but I guess you have to be there. Dad turned around and called "Liz?"

            "Yeah?" I replied, going into the kitchen.

            "You going to get started on your homework?"

            I put on my pouting face, which works a lot. Not all the time, but a lot. "Do I _have_ to?"

            "Well, Uncle Sam's coming over tomorrow and he's staying in town for the weekend, so if you want to spend time with him, you should get your homework done."

            I scowled momentarily. Obviously, now was _not _one of the times when my pouting face worked, but my dad also had a good argument. But, I was cheered by the fact that Uncle Sam was coming to visit. He used to work with Dad at the White House. They used to know each other before that, but they became good friends there. Now he's a corporate attorney who just made partner in a firm in New York. He's my godfather and I really like it when he comes to visit. He didn't seem very surprised when my parents divorced. 

            So I headed to my room and did my homework. I came out when the pizza came, telling Dad the usual stuff, what I had done in the past week. Friday night dinner is 'my time', when he listens to me and my week, only telling me about his week when I'm done and when I actually _want_ to know about it. I returned to my room and finished my homework before going online and talking to my friends Tammy, Elise, and Natalie. I went to bed at around 11:00.

            The next morning I woke up at around 9:30. I don't usually sleep past 10:00. I just don't have the ability. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, and he greeted me the way he always does when I sleep past 7:00: "Good afternoon." 

            I scowled at him. "When's Uncle Sam coming?"

            "Around noon. We're gonna go out to lunch with him, then he's got a meeting at two."

            "Ok."

            True to his world, Uncle Sam arrived at noon, sharp. I grinned as I raced out of my room and my godfather swept me up in a hug. "Hey, kiddo."

            "Hi," I replied with a grin. "I thought most partners stay at their firms a lot," I teased. Uncle Sam had been complaining about that while he was lobbying for partnership.

            "Yeah, but whenever partners do have to go on trips, its usually the junior partners that go."

            "Hey Sam." Dad came out and gave his friend one of those 'guy hugs' where they kind of slap each other on the back. "Glad you could fit us into your busy schedule," he joked.

            "No problem," Sam replied. "I made a reservation at Capital Grille."

            Dad whirled around. "_Capital Grille?_" 

            Sam shrugged. "It was all I could get on such short notice. You know all the big politicians are having important lunches at all the other places"

            Dad looked angry. "You had to pick Capital Grille?"

            "I told you-"

            "I know," Dad sighed. "But still…"

            Deciding to break the silence, I piped up, "I like Capital Grille."

            Uncle Sam looked at Dad. "See, if you can take Liz there, then you've got to be over it."

            But Dad was too busy looking at me. "When did I take you to Capital Grille?" he asked.

            "You didn't. Mom took me." 

            "Oh."

            "Isn't that kind of insensitive of Amy?" Sam asked. Amy is my mom's name.

            I spoke up again, this time with a question. "Why would it be insensitive?"

            "No reason," my dad replied quickly. "It's a great place. Let's go to Capital Grille."

            So there we were, in Capital Grille, twenty minutes later. Dad looked slightly uncomfortable, but he was trying to be very conversational. I wondered if Uncle Sam noticed.

            "So you know Amy and Liz got stuck in traffic yesterday because of the protesters."

            Sam grinned. "You mean the tourists."

            "Why do you call them tourists, anyway?" I asked.

            "One of our co-workers called them that." Sam told me. "He said people knew how to protest when he was a kid. Of course, they were protesting the Vietnam War, but…" 

            "That's where I get 'Total Crackpot Day' from," Dad told me. "Our boss made us meet with a bunch of organizations that we considered 'crackpots' once a year. One year Toby had to meet with the protesters. One of the other organizations that year was the National Cartographers for Social Equality."

            "She knows about the NCSE?" Sam asked.

            "I've been ranting to Mom about it ever since Aunt CJ told me about it." Aunt CJ is the only other member of the Bartlet White House staff I've met, except for Mr. McGarry, who always says to call him 'Leo' but I never do; I haven't met him enough times to call him by his first name.

            Uncle Sam chuckled. 

            "And Toby was the guy who called them tourists?" I asked.

            "Yep, and he had to have a meeting with them. Isn't that where you got hit with the banana?" Uncle Sam asked Dad, who grinned. I was having fun. My dad doesn't talk about his days in the White House very much, especially not any of the details of when he got shot. I don't think it was as traumatic for him as it could have been, considering he kept working there for about six more years. The way he talks, he met the President about once a year, which is kind of unrealistic when you're talking about the White House deputy chief of staff. I think he's trying to forget those years, but I really don't know why.

            "Have you talked to Toby recently?" Dad's voice snapped my back to reality.

            Uncle Sam replied. "Yeah, I was down there last week."

            "Really?"

            "Yup." Uncle Sam answered. He turned to me, "He lives in California. His daughter, Cady, is about your age. His wife died some years ago." I just nodded. "So how's school going, anyway?" Uncle Sam asked. Darn, there went the interesting old stories.

            "It's ok," I replied. "I'm supposed to go to an adult's office on Monday and do a report on what goes on there." I shot my dad a pointed look.

            He looked apologetic. "I know, I'm working on it." He answered Uncle Sam's questioning look with "I have an all-day private meeting with Matt Skinner, and Amy's in Ohio."

            "Why don't you ask Donna? You two used to be so close." Uncle Sam suggested.

            Dad looked at Uncle Sam sharply. I blinked. My dad close with a woman? That was very unlike him. He hasn't dated at all since my parents divorced. My mom's dated some, but it's hard to imagine Dad close with a woman. 

Uncle Sam shrugged. "Well, she probably hasn't seen Liz since she was a baby." Dad continued to glare at him. "Or, I could call and ask her for you." Whoa, Uncle Sam offering to call her for Dad. Wow. What was going on here?

Dad looked at me. I gave him my most hopeful look. He sighed and looked at Uncle Sam. "Would you? That'd be great. She works for Bill Gorman, right?"

Uncle Sam shook his head. "She quit eight years ago. Now she works as a financial officer for Kilbert and Company. Haven't you talked to her at all?" The glare Dad gave Uncle Sam said 'no.'

Dad turned to me. "Ok, that should be fun, right? I don't know where else you could go."

"Who's Donna?" I asked.

Dad sighed. "Someone who used to work with us in the White House."

"Really?" I asked with a grin. Now _that_ should be fun.

"Yeah, she was my assistant." 

Dad seemed more aggravated at the memory, but I was oblivious. "So does she know any amusing stories about you that I could tease you about?"

"No," Dad replied sharply. He got up. "I'm gonna go to the restroom."

I turned to Uncle Sam once he was gone. "So what's the deal with this Donna?" I asked.

Uncle Sam replied, "they were really good friends and everyone could tell that there was something else going on, but the two of them were totally oblivious. I swear, he ended up with your mom only because things ended badly between him and Donna." 

I blinked. Wow. "So, was it his fault?"

"A little." I gave him a look and he relented. "Yeah. It was one of the stupidest mistakes I've ever seen him make, and he's made quite a few of them over the years."

I sighed. "Did they ever actually go out?"

Uncle Sam looked at me. "Not in the sense you're thinking of." I must have looked pretty puzzled. "She pushed him towards other women. He sabotaged all her dates. She was worried sick when he was shot." I shuddered, like I always do when someone mentions it. It's hard to imagine your father being shot. I mean, I've seen his scars and everything, but still. Uncle Sam went on, "He went into meltdown when she temporarily stopped working for him to go back to her boyfriend. She practically nursed him back to health and she was there for him when he was diagnosed…never mind. They had the closest relationship any of us had with our assistants. We all had bets on when the two of them were going to act on their feelings. Then, something happened. I'm not sure what, but it was pretty big. Happened near the end of the second term. I think an event that happened here contributed to it. Probably why Josh wasn't all that enthusiastic about going here."

Wow. This was a lot to digest. Dad returned from the restroom and we said good-bye to Uncle Sam and went home. I was quiet most of the drive. I had a lot to think about. 

On Monday morning Dad was driving me to Donna's office. He was visibly nervous.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied and gave me an all too cheerful look, even for him.

I leaned back in my seat. I had a feeling this was going to be a long day. My dad was usually overconfident and sometimes arrogant, not under-confident and nervous. 

We pulled up to the building and went inside. Dad stopped at the reception desk. "I'm looking for Donna Moss' office."

"Are you Mr. Lyman?" she asked very nicely.

"Yes."

"Ok. Go right down to the end of that hall to the right. It's right there. She's expecting you."

So we went down the hall to the right. There was an office door with 'Donnatella Moss' written on the outside. The door was open and Josh knocked quietly on the frame. "Donna?" he asked softly.

A blond women typing at the computer looked up. "Joshua," she said simply. 

"Hi," Dad said.

"Hi."

I cleared my throat. Dad looked at me, remembered what he was here for, and quickly ushered me into office. "This is Liz."

Donna stood up and smiled for the first time. "Hi, Liz. I'm Donna Moss." 

She offered her hand, and I shook it. "Liz Lyman." Donna cocked her head slightly when I said 'Lyman.' 

Then Donna turned back to Dad. "Sam called me."

Dad looked even more uncomfortable. "Yeah, I was pretty busy." Ok, now _that_ was an outright lie. He continued, "I've got a doctor's appointment, so is it ok if a pick her up at around 4:30?"

"Sure," she replied.

"Ok," Dad replied softly. He had been speaking very softly, almost gently, which was also very unlike him. He turned to me. "Ok, be good and don't bug Donna too much, ok?" 

I nodded. "Ok." 

He nodded to Donna, "Bye," and then fled.

Donna turned to me. "Just wondering, are you more like your mom or your dad."

I paused. "Well, my mom says I'm more like my dad."

Donna grinned. "This is gonna be fun." I grinned too.

A few hours later, there was nothing to do, so Donna and I were doing some girl bonding. "So, why did your parents name you Elizabeth?"

"My mom named me after Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and my dad liked Liz, so he went along with it."

Donna smiled. "What's your middle name?"

"Joan."

Donna looked surprised. "After Josh's sister?"

"Yeah, Joanie. She died-"

"In a fire when he was five," Donna finished.

I nodded, surprised that she knew the story. Dad doesn't like to talk about it much.

"So where in DC do you guys live?"

"Dad lives in Georgetown, Mom lives in Bethesda. I go back and forth each week."

Donna looked at me in genuine surprise. "They're divorced?"

I was surprised she didn't know. "Yeah. They have been for three years." I couldn't read the expression on her face. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. "Uncle Sam said you were Dad's assistant."

She grinned. "Yeah, I was. It was kind of a weird relationship." She quickly changed the subject. "You know Sam?"

"Yeah, he's my godfather. We had lunch with him on Friday."

"Have you met anyone else Josh used work with?"

"I've met Aunt CJ and Mr. McGarry."

Donna smiled. "I bet he's not to wild about you calling him that." I looked at her in surprise. "Oh yeah, he made everyone call him Leo, right down to the lowest junior staffer." She paused, and then went on, "so you never met the president- I mean, Jed?"

I shook my head, and Donna correctly interpreted the look on my face. "He hated it when we called him 'Mr. President' after he left office. He started getting his grandkids to call him 'Grandpa President' to get us to stop." 

I laughed. "That's the kind of thing my dad would do." Donna nodded in agreement.

Right before my dad was due to pick me up, Donna wrote something on a piece of paper and gave it to me. "Here's my email address, in case your dad won't go into details on a story, or you want any more embarrassing stories about him." I grinned my thanks. The phone rang and Donna answered it, and put it down a minute later, telling me my dad was here. We went to the reception desk to meet him.

He smiled at me, then got back into his nervous mode when he turned to Donna. "How was she?"

Donna grinned at me. "Oh, she's just like you in the office."

Dad blinked, then turned back to me. "What do you say?"

"Thanks, Donna," I told her with a smile.

"You're welcome," She replied. "And remember what I said."

"I will," I answered.

In the car on the way home I decided two things. The first was that I liked Donna Moss. She was nice, funny, efficient, smart, and I could see why she and Dad got along pretty well, at least before. The second was something I was going to do. It was going to take a lot of planning, a lot of work, a lot of help, and a lot of luck. Maybe I could get Uncle Sam or Aunt CJ in on it. The second thing I decided was that I was going to get Dad and Donna back together.


	2. Cady Rebecca Continues On

This one is written by KJ. 

"Rebecca! Get out here!" 

I looked up from her sandwich at the sound of my father's voice. "Yeah, why?" I responded, imitating his brusque manner, and grabbed the half finished meal and went on to the back porch. "Dad," I began, "Making a sandwich is a very delicate procedure that I would prefer to _not be interrupted in_. I can't cook. This is a widely known fact. And you insist on interrupting me in the middle of applying the mayo. I could have sliced something!" 

"Cady Rebecca Zeigler. You are sounding thoroughly too much like CJ."

"Really? That's so sweet!" I exclaimed, with a mischievous grin.

"That's my girl!" came a welcome voice. 

"Aunt CJ! You made it!" I jumped up, abandoning my sandwich, and ran at her with a hug, as if I hadn't seen her in years, even though CJ had dropped me off at school just that morning. CJ Cregg isn't really my aunt, she's my godmother, and she's more of mother than anyone I've known since Mom died of cancer three years ago. 

CJ slid into a chair next to Toby's and I took the seat across from them, tucking her feet under her and retrieving the sandwich. 

"So, Cady," said CJ, "How was school?" 

I shrugged. "Oh, same old crap. Oh, right, not crap, same old excretion." CJ snickered and even Toby looked vaguely amused. I frowned suddenly, remembering. "Tomorrow is Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work-Day." 

CJ smiled. "And your dad's too busy? Figures. I'll take you to my work. It'll be loads more fun than Toby's." 

"Excellent!" I exclaimed. The phone rang, and I jumped up immediately. "I got it!" 

"Incorrect grammar!" shouted Dad irately. 

"I know!" I retorted, before shoving the sliding glass door out of her way to the combination living room, dining room, and kitchen. 

"Zeigler. Speak," I said by way of greeting.

"Hey, Ceezee!" I knew that voice.

"Uncle Sam! Hi!" 

"How's school?"

"Okay. Pretty boring. How's Washington?" 

"Excellent, as usual. I'm visiting with some friends." Friends? I decided it was time to bring something up I wanted to find out about.

"Josh Lyman?" I asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" 

"Aunt CJ is going to see him in two weeks. After she takes me to Take Your Daughter to Work Day." 

"She will?" 

"Yes!" 

"Fantastic! You know, we always thought your dad and CJ would get together some day." 

"_Aunt CJ_? And _Dad_?" 

"Yeah. We had a bet going." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. The pot was pretty big." 

"That's so cool!" 

Dad looked in from the porch. "REBECCA! Who is it?" 

I looked over. "IT'S UNCLE SAM!" I yelled back. Aunt CJ came over and forcefully took the phone from me. I mock scowled, flopping back into a chair. "Go out to your dad, Cadet," Aunt CJ said before speaking in the phone. I heard her say, "Sam? Put Josh on the line," before I went out. 

The porch is one of my favourite places in our house. It's really big, but then again, the rest of the house is too. Dad really hit something when he got his job; he makes a lot of money. The porch looks out on the beach and the water, which seems to go on forever. 

"Yo, Dad," I said, flopping down on a chair. I know he hates it when I say 'yo', which is probably why I say it. 

"Rebecca," he said, "Look up. See over there? That's the North Star. Not to be confused with the Delta Shuttle from LaGuardia, which is over there." I shot my dad a strange look. "Don't ask," he said. "Wasn't going to," I replied. 

I suppose it would be good to explain why everyone calls me Cady, but my dad calls me Rebecca. When I was born, Mom and Dad hadn't even decided on a name yet. Mom wanted to name me Cady Eleanor, after Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Eleanor Roosevelt, and Dad wanted to name Rebecca, after his sister, who died of leukaemia when he was in his late teens. Mom is-was- a very good debater and Dad finally agreed to call me Cady Rebecca Zeigler. Mom wanted Wyatt, but Dad pointed out that she got the first name, so he got the last and middle. Mom didn't really feel like arguing, anymore, I guess, because it doesn't sound like her to just quit at it. I used to not like thinking about my mom, but now I think I'm getting better. Dad is too. We used to live in New York, but Dad thought it was too painful to keep living there. That's also why he calls me Rebecca. My mom and him used to call me by different names, and now dad continues the tradition, even though she isn't here anymore. 

Aunt CJ came back out on the porch. "How's Josh?" asked Dad. 

"Fine, as usual. Liz is with him this week." 

"Who?" I asked. 

"His daughter, Liz. She's about your age, maybe a little older." 

"Oh," I said.

"Anyway," Aunt CJ continued, "I'm going over to visit them on Thursday." 

"Who, what, where, when, why?" I asked again, seeing how irritated I could make them. 

"Josh Lyman, visiting, Washington, Thursday, because we're friends and I haven't seen him in ages," Aunt CJ answered without skipping a beat. 

"But you were supposed to be there for the dance tryouts!" I complained. I was trying out for a part in a major ballet that winter, and Aunt CJ usually took me and helped me get ready and everything. She used to be a ballet dancer, but she stopped when she got too tall. I don't think I'm in danger of that. 

"I'm sorry, Cadet, but it's the only time I can get over to the east coast without work minding. But I'll tell you what. I'll call you right before and give you your pep talk, okay?" 

"Okay," I said, mock sighing. 

Dad rolled his eyes. "Now that you're done, don't you have some homework to do, Rebecca?" 

"I'm finished!" 

"Yes, don't you have some _homework to do_?" 

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Fine, fine," I relented, going up to my room. I call my room 'the tower' for a reason. It's two flights up from the ground floor, and its circular, and I have my own little apartment-type thing up there. I have my room, which has a connected walk in closet and bathroom, and a little room that I call my 'living room'. I flopped onto a chair in the living room and grabbed my phone from nearby to ring my best friends, Ethan, Jack, and Nina.  

We talked for an hour or so and then I hung up and stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering about what Dad's life at the White House was like. I've only met a couple of the people, Aunt CJ, Aunt Donna, Uncle Sam, Dad, Leo McGarry (and that was only three times), and Abbey Bartlet. I met her when Mom died, along with Mr. McGarry. Former President Bartlet was there when I wasn't, so I never met him. Josh Lyman, the person Aunt CJ was going to visit, never comes to visit Dad, so I've never met him. 

The next morning I was woken by the sound of my cat, Eleanor Roosevelt II (Nora for short), meowing furiously. 

"Shut up," I groaned, throwing a slipper in the general direction. 

"Ow!" I knew that voice. Slowly I opened my eyes to the sight of my very tall godmother, with her eyebrows raised, looking down at me. 

"Cady Rebecca Zeigler- have you been abusing the cat?" she asked inquisitively. 

"Meep!" I said, "No, no, I haven't done anything, seriously, I just gently wanted to imply my displeasure- hey, why are you here?" 

"Cadet, darling," said CJ, sitting on my bed, "Today is Tuesday. It is seven in the morning. You were supposed to be downstairs an hour ago." 

I jumped out of bed and began rushing around the room, much to Aunt CJ's amusement. "I accuse you of having fun at my expense," I said, though I wasn't quite sure if she could understand me as I spoke it to my closet of clothes. 

Aunt CJ laughed. "Wherever would you get that idea?" 

"Oh, I don't know, the smirk, the laughter, could be some indication of enjoyment," I said.  Half an hour, three pieces of toast, a strawberry, 3 outfits, and several probes later we were in the car driving to her work. 

"You don't have to take notes or anything?" she asked incredulously. 

"No! Isn't it great?" 

"I'm thinking Toby is paying way too much for a snobby private school for you." 

"I'm thinking if you tell him I will switch I'll tell him about the time you told him you were taking me out to dinner and really took me to see a Broadway show." 

"You underhand child." 

"I learned it from you!" 

"You bet, baby. Your dad certainly didn't teach it to you." 

"No, from him I get my freakish grammar obsession, and my ability to write out loud." 

"Because paper's for wimps." 

"You got it," I replied. We turned into a parking garage at a very high speed and Aunt CJ swerved and jerked into her parking space. "Couldn't I, you know, do it myself?" 

"I can think of other things you could do with yourself," Aunt CJ replied, sending me a glare.

"And there you go again with the feminista death ray face." 

"And now you sound like Josh Lyman," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Who's Josh Lyman?" 

"He's a friend of your father's and mine." 

"Where does he live?" 

"In Washington." 

"Why can't we move back to the East Coast?" 

"That was an abrupt change of conversation." 

"So why can't we?" 

"Because I said so." 

"That's not a good reason." 

"It's a fine reason." 

"Is not." 

"Is too." 

"Is not." 

"Is too." 

"You're being a bad influence." 

"Cadet, you already are thoroughly corrupted." 

"How come? 'Cause of the thing?" 

"Yes. Because you can speak West Wing. That's why. Hello, children! CJ is here, you can all rest happily now," she said as we entered the office. Aunt CJ is the head PR person for movies. She hates it, but she can tolerate it. An intern hurried towards us. 

"Miss Cregg? There is a meeting you need to attend on the fourth floor." 

"I'll get to it. Cady, this is Janna. Janna, Cady," said CJ, introducing us, before whisking into the elevator. 

"Your daughter looks just like you, Miss Cregg," gushed Janna before we got into the elevator. This comment caused us to dissolve into laughter. 

"Well, Cadet, I'll drop you at my office and you can use the computer or whatever there, the meeting should only take around fifteen minutes." 

"Okay," I replied. I stared out the window, thinking. 'Your daughter looks just like you.' 'We always thought your dad and CJ would get together someday.' 'Take your daughter to work day.' Suddenly I realized what I had to do. 

I had to get Dad and Aunt CJ back together.


	3. And on and on, Liz style

This one is written by Jodi. 

A few days after I had made these two life-changing decisions (well, one of them was life changing), I was woken up by the sound of my father crashing into a door. He tends to do things like that. It's kind of like my mom being slightly emotionless; its just part of his nature, and it always has been. Considering it was about 5:30 in the morning, I tried to go back to sleep, to no avail. Then I wondered why my dad was up this early. He usually does get up pretty early, but not this early. It made sense that he wasn't turning any lights on so he wouldn't wake me, but still…so I went to see what was going on.

Dad was standing by the kitchen table, with a piece of newspaper with an add on it. I blinked. The add was for a _florist company_. Dad was talking to the guy on the other end. 

"Ok, now put on the card, 'happy anniversary, from Josh.'" It was nowhere near my parents' anniversary. "No, _from_ Josh. Thank you." I cleared my throat loudly. My Dad turned around and the look on his face when he saw me reminded me that of a little kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. He quickly turned his attention back to the phone. "You'll deliver them to the address I gave you? Thank you very much. Good-bye." He hung up and looked back at me.

I cleared my throat again. "You know its not yours and Mom's anniversary, right?"

Dad looked relieved. "Yes, I know. I wasn't sending your Mom flowers."

As good as this news was, it made me even more scared. "You're sending someone _else_ flowers? For some anniversary?"

Dad was about to say something, then changed his mind. "I won't lie to you. I'm sending them to Donna."

Ok, does he know that he's making me _more_ scared with each answer? "_Why_?"

"It's kind of a long story." I crossed my arms. "It has to do with car accidents, broken angles, and there not being anything funny about the jokes for the annual correspondent's dinner."

I continued to interrogate him. "What anniversary?"

"The anniversary when Donna started working for me."

This seemed reasonable, and I would have settled for this if I didn't have a secret weapon that my dad didn't know about. So later that day I sent Donna an email. I took a deep breath as I clicked 'send'. I really hoped this worked.

Donna Moss walked into her office at the normal time, not excepting anything unusual for that painfully usual day. So imagine her surprise when she walked in and saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers on her desk. It wasn't horrifically large, but it wasn't tiny either. She was even more surprised when she read the card: 'Happy Anniversary. From Josh.'

Wow.

This was the very first time since they had left the White House that he had acknowledged their 'anniversary'. Normally, she would have called him up and given him a verbal beating if she wasn't so touched by the gesture. He does have nice taste, she thought ruefully, knowing she would spend all day analyzing it, wondering what he meant by it.

Another twist in her day occurred around noon, when she got an email from Liz:

To: dmoss@kilbertco.net

From: lizzie_ly@hotmail.com

Subject: I really don't know

Donna, I caught my dad ordering a 'special delivery' to your office. When I asked him about it he started saying stuff about car accidents, broken ankles, and jokes for the correspondent's dinner. You asked me to email you when Dad didn't elaborate on stories, so here I am.

Thanks,

Liz

Donna couldn't help but smile when she read it, and it compelled her to write a very informative reply:

To: lizzie_ly@hotmail.com

From: dmoss@kilbertco.net

Subject: I don't know either

Liz, since you really want to know the whole story, I'll comply. I started working for your dad in February, after my boyfriend and I broke up. Later, I stopped working for Josh because my boyfriend took me back, but we broke up again and I went back to work for Josh in April. He sent me flowers every April to celebrate our 'anniversary' because he knew it bugged me because I really started working for him in February. One of these 'anniversaries' occurred while we were trying to 'put the funny' in some jokes for the correspondent's dinner. The car accident and broken ankle things don't matter. Thanks for emailing me.

Keep in touch,

Donna

P.S. I like your email address.

I got the email that afternoon, and that was pretty much the last I thought of my plan for a while. I returned to my mom's house, and was asleep on Thursday morning when my mother shook me awake.

"Elizabeth Joan Lyman! WAKE UP!"

"_Why_?"

"Because I said so."

'Why?"

"Don't start!"

"I like starting."

"Get up."

"Insert whining and contradictory reply here."

"ELIZABETH!"

"Fine."

"Good."

"Why am I getting up?"

"Do I have to say your full name again?"

"Yes, because I think I forgot it, and you just answered a question with a question."

"Of all the unimportant, pointless, insignificant-"  
"You just said three words that all mean the same thing."

"I have an emergency trip to Ohio."

"Again?"

"Yes."

"We're not moving to Ohio, are we?"

"We will if you don't get out of bed _now_!"

"Am I going with you?"

"Do you want to come with me?"

"I really don't."

"I don't think the point of that was to make me feel loved."

"It wasn't."

"You're adorable."

"Yet ill-adored."

"Go figure."

"Yeah."

"You are going to your father's house."

"See, right there, the fact that I have to go to Dad's house is a non-feminista gesture because you have to rely on Dad."

"You are so much like your father."

"I am."

"_Elizabeth_."

"You know, you can't say my name and expect me to know what you're talking about."

"Can't I?"

"Why do you call me Elizabeth?"

"You just changed the subject."

"Thanks, since I've only been practicing my conversational skills for fourteen years, I appreciate you clearing that up."

"You didn't start talking as soon as you were born."

"Dad says I did."

"Your father hears voices."

"Like you see things?"

"_Elizabeth_."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Why do you call me Elizabeth; honestly Mom, can't you remember these things?"

"I remember the important things."

"So I'm not important? I love your new, emotional persona."

"Get up."

"Why do you call me Elizabeth?"

"It's your name, get over it."

"Dad calls me Liz."

"Your father hears voices."

"I don't think he does, and do you realize I've detained you for about five minutes?"

"ELIZABETH."

"Getting up, getting up."

So half an hour later we were pulling up to my father's apartment. My dad opened the door and cheerfully greeted me: "Merry Christmas."

"Hi," I replied. "Mom is leaving and I get to stay with you for two days, but knowing Mom, she's probably going to say that I need to stay with her for Christmas as a result."

"I'm sure. You know, I was going to call you anyway?"

"Enlighten me."

"I have a visitor."

I followed Dad into the living room and grinned at who I saw. "Aunt Claudia."

"Elizabeth Joan."

"You know, I have a striking suspicion that you know that Mom calls me Elizabeth and you do so as well simply to have fun at my expense."

"You're daughter is starting to sound like Toby, Joshua."

"Who?"

"The guy with the tourists," Dad explained. 

"She knows?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I have that information."

"Now she's starting to sound like you, _Claudia Jean_."

"Josh, let me just say: _so far up your ass_!"

I raised my eyebrows, but no one noticed, because they were laughing too hard. 

Finally Aunt CJ turned to look at me. "Do you want me to drive you to school?"

"Absolutely."

"I feel so unloved."

"You aren't unloved, Father dear, I just prefer Aunt CJ do it, but you can tell me some pointless jokes after dinner, because you are such an hysterically funny person. Did you notice how I used 'an' there correctly."

"I did, and I must say we are making progress."

"I have to go to school."

Aunt CJ and I went out to her car and she turned to me. "I haven't talked to you in a while have I?"

"The last time you talked to me was when you told me about the National Cartographers for Social Equality, and I think I drove Mother so nuts that she would have kittens if she knew you were here."

"Now _that's_ something I would like to see."

"What?"

"Your mother have kittens."

"Why do you inquire?"

"You speak West Wing."

"Did not understand response. Require elaboration."

"It would be so much simpler if you just said, 'huh.'"

"This is so much more amusing."

"You are just mad that I called you Elizabeth Joan."

"Plus that."

"I think I will continue doing that for awhile."

"Why?"

"Because I can."

"Well, I _can _call you Monkeyface, but I choose not to."

"Thank god for that. See, you're still doing that. Talking West Wing."

"Do I need to start with the elaboration again?"

"You are speaking with a sarcastically implemented tone of voice, and with unnecessary long words, most commonly used by those who work in the West Wing of the White House."

"Like Donna?"

"How do you know Donna?"

"She took me to Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work Day."

"Did she?"

"Yes."

"Did you have fun?"

"Oh yeah." There was a long pause. "Aunt CJ?"

"Yes?"

"Uncle Sam said Dad and Donna almost got together."

"That's true."

"I figured."

"Congratulations."

"I'd tell you Dad sent her flowers, but I'd be afraid that you'd slam on the breaks." _Screech_. "Like you just did."

"Your dad sent her flowers?"

"It would seem that he did considering that I just _said he did_."

"Liz?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you like her?"

"Yeah. A lot. Aunt CJ?"

"Oh my god. Hold on." She reached into her bag for her cell phone and pushed a button on the speed dial. It rang a few times and then someone answered, so I listened to Aunt CJ's part of the conversation: "Hey Cadet, its me. Just calling to wish you luck before dance tryouts…Yeah, remember to focus on what you're doing at the moment, not on your mistakes…yeah, not like your dad. That's right…ok, knock 'em dead, Cadet."

She hung up. "Who was that?"

"Cady Rebecca Zeigler. Her dad is-"

"Toby-the-guy-who-calls-the-protestors-tourists."

"Josh told you?"

"Him and Uncle Sam."

"I thought he never told you stories."

"He doesn't. Uncle Sam initiated the incident." Another long pause. "Aunt CJ?"

"You know, when you say my name like that, it sounds like you're asking my permission to speak."

"I gonna try to get Dad and Donna to get back together." _Screech_. "You gotta stop doing that."

"I think it's a great idea."

"Really?"

"Yeah, just don't botch it up."

"That's more of my dad's department."

Aunt CJ pulled up in front of my school. "Ok, I'll see you later, hopefully. And if you need any help with…your little scheme, call me."

"Will do. See you later." 


	4. Cady takes another turn

      I sat in English class, staring down at my paper in utter boredom. We were discussing grammar, something my father drilled me in when I was three and under, something I can literally do in my sleep. I tapped the pointer on the palm pilot. There, instead of the notes we were supposed to be taking down, was my 'things to do' list. 

My 'things to do' lists always seem to offer more information than one needs. I always say that's 'cause there are so many words trying to burst out of me that they have to go _somewhere_. 

1. Find my lucky toe shoes for the audition.

2. Do my geometry homework

3. Study for the History test- oh, scratch that. Know it already. 

4. Buy Christmas/Hanukkah presents 

a. Dad:???? I swear to God he is the most difficult person to shop for.

b. Ethan: a copy of the Webster's Thesaurus. He needs it to improve his vocabulary. 

c. Nina: black nail polish? Note to self: find something for Nina. 

d. Jack: a copy of 'How to Overthrow the Government'. It should amuse him. And me. 

e. Aunt CJ: earplugs and the new Kylle Risahr C.D. Earplugs for Dad's ranting, C.D. because she wants it. It's one of those feminista power ballad thingies, which means I'll burn it from her and play it loudly to irritate my father.

f. Uncle Sam: Christmas CD's. He'll love them.

g. Mom: flowers. For her grave, those of you who are weird and don't get it.

5. Get Dad and Aunt CJ back together 

6. Make Jack give me back the five bucks he owes me.

"Miss Zeigler?" 

My head snapped up, and someone (Nina, probably) poked me and snickered. "Would you like to answer the question?" 

"Can you repeat it please?" I asked smoothly. 

"Can you name all of the punctuation marks in English grammar," said the teacher sarcastically. 

"Period, comma, colon, semicolon, dash, hyphen, apostrophe, question mark, exclamation point, quotation marks, brackets, parentheses, braces, and ellipses," I reeled off efficiently. The teacher stared. 

"I was joking," she pointed out. 

"I wasn't," I countered, laughing inwardly. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning was Saturday, the day of the audition. I was still asleep. What? I'm fourteen; I'm entitled! 

            "REBECCA!" Dad bellowed into my room. I fell out of bed. He's _scary_. I'm serious! And with the tone, and the grumble and the rumbling of the floor and everything… Anyway. 

            "I'm up, I'm up!" I protested into my pillow. 

            "Do I have to tell you again?" Dad asked/warned. 

            "Erm- no, of course not!" He left. Fifteen minutes later I had drifted off to sleep again. The next thing I knew was the slamming of my door and the rumbling voice of my father. Again. 

            "CADY REBECCA ZEIGLER! UP! NOW!"  Definitely something wrong, my brain managed to register as I made a noncommittal noise, that voice was disturbingly loud. And close. 

            "GET UP, NOW, LITTLE HELLION!" 

            "Erble," I said. 

            The disturbingly loud and close voice suddenly began to chuckle. That woke me up more than the falling out of bed, or the very, very loud voice. Remember when I said my father is scary? Well, if its possible, he's scarier when he's laughing.

            "What was _that_ for?" I grunted. 

            "Bec, you've managed to sleep on the floor." 

            "Oh, go away," I groaned. Dad snickered again, took my pillow out from under me, and left the room. It suddenly occurred to me that, yes, I was on the floor. And it was hard and cold. Not fun. No, not fun at all. I pouted. It was entirely unfulfilling as there was no one there to see it but the cat. 

            "Humph," I muttered, shading my eyes from the altogether too bright sun. "Couldn't God turn it down a little?" All of a sudden a cloud covered the object of my loathing. I gaped. "Dad!" I shouted, "I have divine power!" 

            "Rebecca, I don't care- we have to _go._" 

            "But I can make stuff happen! I could probably walk on water!" 

            "Fantastic, test that theory _after_ you've auditioned, Hellion."  

            I sullenly got to my feet and began getting ready, my brain still not fully working. I hate mornings. I _can_ get up, of course, I just have issues and I'm not fully conscious until I've digested a significant amount of caffeine. I love Starbucks, yes I do. 

            After getting up I stumbled to the bathroom, splashed water over my face and brushed my teeth. Slightly more aware, I haphazardly dressed in a black leotard, white tights, and green sweatpants, all the while trying to pull my hair back into a semi neat bun. I shoved my feet into sneakers and swung my ballet bag over my shoulder. Whew. That took effort. 

            Then down the stairs, grab a jumbo-sized coffee cup and fill it, and into the car. Dad was already there.

            "So what was this about you're ability to perform miracles?" 

            "Don't make fun of me!" 

            "Rebecca, you are informing me that you have been given powers of the divine. If you expect me to leave this subject untouched, you're even more insane than I suspected." 

            "Oh, shut up," I replied. An earsplitting rendition of 'Jingle bells' blasted through the car. 

            "How many times have I told you to TURN THAT DAMN THING DOWN?" Dad yelled. I just smirked and fished it out of my dance bag. 

            "Cady Zeigler," I announced. 

            "Hey Cadet, its me. Just calling to wish you luck before dance tryouts." 

            "Thankies, thankies. I'll need it." 

            "Yeah, remember to focus on what you're doing at the moment not on your mistakes." 

            "See, that's good advice. Dad, are you hearing this advice? This is good advice. 'Don't fall and kill yourself', that's not good advice." 

            "Yeah, not like your dad. That's right." I could detect a bubble of laughter in Aunt CJ's voice. 

            Dad pulled into a parking space. "We're here! Gotta go, love ya." 

            "Okay, knock 'em dead, Cadet." I clicked the cell phone shut. 

            "You done communing with the mothership?" 

            "Yeah, finished. Let's go! C'mon!" I was fairly bouncing as in the car I had digested far more caffeine than should go into a teenager's body- and I'm not big for my age. I'm tall enough, 5'5, but very bony, so it evens out.  

            Dad gave me a stern look and I quieted down. I knew that meant they wouldn't want a hyped up kid in their company. I took a deep breath and went in. 

            There were kids my age, and older, everywhere. Dad informed me he'd be in the waiting room. I rather wished Aunt CJ was there, not only because I wanted her at my audition, but because she could give me the recap of my grumpy father surrounded by perky ballet moms and so on. 

            I warmed up, surveying the room and wibbling quietly in my head. They called out the names. Mine was last, as usual. There was nothing to do but watch the others and become increasingly freaked. They were down to N's when I almost lost it and when outside to keep myself from hyperventilating. 

            I pressed speed dial seven. Aunt CJ. "Eep!" I cried into the phone. 

            By some miracle she understood. "Cady. Take a deep breath. Okay? Now close your eyes. Let go of the breath. Breath in again. That's it. Shake out your joints. Good. You'll do fine, honey." 

            I did feel better. "Thanks," I told her, back to whatever semblance of sanity I possessed before. The caffeine buzz was coming back- but luckily not too badly. 

            "Now go back in there and warm up again. Don't watch the others. And remember that you have divine powers and you can walk on water." 

            I groaned. "Dad told you?" My tone was incredulous. 

            "Of course he did!" 

            I rolled my eyes and said goodbye, walking back into the audition room. Now, more than ever, I was determined. Not about ballet, but about the prospect of Aunt CJ becoming another mother. A mother in heaven's nice, and all, but its not helpful when you're freaking out over ballet tryouts and going crazy on caffeine overdose. 

OOC: KJ again. Finally got over writers block. Thanks, all you who read it, and especially those who reviewed. Special shout out to Rose, the e-mail helped jar me out of the rut! 


End file.
